Current mood:

hopeful

Crows
I an trying to enlist in a childcare sub organization, and they have screwed up my fingerprints. Arrghh.Just got off the phone with recruiter, and forgot my own phone number. Argghhhh.


Anyway, crows.


It started back when I returned to City College.Well actually it started in the early nineties, When I first saw crows hopping around in the church's parking lot. I had never seen them in our area before. Seagulls, yes, pigeons, sure, but crows? At the time I was excited, they seemed exotic and beautiful to me.

Fast forward to 2002: the crows were beginning to creep me out. I pulled up for my first day at City to see that the crows had pretty much taken over the east resevoir parking lot. A flock of about 20 was covering the slope.There were a few pigeons meandering around, staying out of the crows way, and there were four or five seagulls huddled off to the side, far way from the crows and clearly on alert. They looked very nervous. And here's the thing, San Francisco seagulls are mean sons-of-bitches. The fact that they were unnnerved sure unnerved the hell out of me.

That evening I started my very first Hell thread(on ship-of-fools):"Crows, or Creeping Portents of Doom."

All that year I continued to watch them with apprehension/fascination. They flock on the ground, but are very territorial of their perches. They are loud and brassy. They often choose to walk form place to place rather than fly, with a cocky side-to-side swagger.

Crow Encounter #1

One crow would pace betwen two of the juniper trees planted on the lawn by Cloud Hall. He (trust me, he acted like a he)had grey streaks in his feathers, and some bald patches where other crows must have ripped them out. I am sure he started every fight he was in. He certainly kept trying to pick fights with every human that passed by those two trees. Every day--every single flippin day--he would post himself between the two trees, facing out at the sidewalk that ran alongside them, and caw loudly at every person that passed by, pacing them until they passed the boundary tree. Back and forth, from tree to tree, person after person.
I guess I am a frustrated naturalist, becaue one day, when I had some time before class, I began to wonder what would happen if the crow's territory was challenges somehow. So I walked up to the space between the trees, careful to stay on my side of the sidewalk, and faced the crow.

He got all excited, fluttered his wings cawed at me. Oh you want some? you want some of this?

Then he moved to one of th trees to caw at some other student. I followed him. He ruffled his wings again, and paced the other way. I paced with him. He tossed me a look, and paced to the other tree at a bit of a faster waddle. I paced with him.

He stood in his tracks for a minute flapped his wings a little, and opened his beak to give me holy hell, then resumed his pacing. I resumed mine. I have a dim memory that at some point I looked up to see someone from one of my classes coming down the path from Cloud Hall, slowing down to watch me with a puzzled expression. I nodded at them and kept pacing.

Finally the crow backed off from ne several steps, ruffled all of his feathers and aimed several don't-fuck-with-me-I-mean-business caws at me. I thought about actually stepping on the grass and really bending his mind, but some instinct kicked up a little factoid about the strength of the average carrion eater's beak. I went to class.

Crow encounter #2

This happened last semester, while I was working the library. I got there early as I always do, on a Sunday when we were open Sundays. I sat at the big drop-off bench across the road from the library doors.There were several pine trees clustered in that area, and a couple crows claiming one or the other of them. One crow made note of me in his space and made the routine "my tree" calls at me. Pretty listlessly; I guess he knew I wasn't a threat. (Trust me, it is male crows that act like this.)I was bored and lonely, so I called back.
The crow shuffled through the bushes to get closer and eyeballed me. He cawed again. I cawed back. He shuffled away. Cawed twice. I cawed twice. Shuffled around the side of the bench and eyeballed me. Cawed once. I cawed once.

A few other people had gathered across the street, waiting for the library to open. They all were reading books or listening to their walkmans, and if they saw what was going on they didn't seem particularly interested. I kept up the call-and-response stuff.
Then Mr. Crow changed his caw to a soft purring or cooing noise, and shuffled much closer. I copied the sound as best I could, He cooed some more and shuffled out of the bushes, around my feet. I cooed back, He hopped right up on the bench beside me and purred.I purred back.

Suddenly he hopped off the bench and strode across the street to the other people, cawing his head off. No, I mean really aggressively, like the old crow before. He walked straight up to the waiting patrons and cawed right at them, going from one person to another and full on shouting at them. They laughed, but it was nervous laughter. I guess they knew about carrion eaters beaks, too. Finally, because I felt kinda responsible for the whole thing, I came over and told the crow to go back to his tree. He had to be told a couple times, but he did.

Later I found a bird book and looked up crows, and their calls. Basically the book said that crows usually only cawed except--get this--"during mating season, when they make a low raspy cooing or mutter"

So the way I figure it, the crow was either telling the crowd BACK OFF, SHE'S MINE! or GUESS WHAT, I SCORED!

I am not so bugged by crows anymore. In fact, I am beginning to think they are choosing themselves at my totem.

[Later: Got back from agency, and fingerprints are on the way. Hope I will have work soon!]

Update: 3.26.06

I parked in the resevoir parking lot again, and saw a crow and a raven hanging out together on the hill in front of my car. I stepped out to look at them They were just hagning out like a couple of little hoodlums, not making any noise or doing anything interesting.
I thought this was exasperating, so I tried to talk to them a little. "Caw, Caw!"

The two corvids--swear to God-- looked at each toher, then looked back at me. I cawed some more. They shuffled around on their talons, looked at each other, back at me.It's hard to describe how human thier behaviour appeared-- two guys, minding their own business, exchanging curious glances at the unexpected attention of some crazy chick.

I gave up and started up the hill to class. I got halfway up and heard "Caw!Caw!!Caw!"
Ignored it and kept going.
Then it came from right above my head, very insistant."CAW! CAW, GODDAMITT, CAW!"

I stopped and looked up.
The raven and crow had moved to the streetlamp above my head (I looked over to verify-- yep, they weren't on the hill anymore.) The raven just sort of stood there and stared. The crow however, was bent ass-over-teakettle, his tail pointing skyward, his wings arched slightly, and his neck craned right at me. He was cawing- I shit you not-- right in my face.

Damn. :D Just call me Dances-with-Crows.